Walking Away
by Hans the bold
Summary: Lucy is forced to reevaluate her life after she is first thrown out of the house and then the garage apartment. Rated PG-13 for its attempt at a realistic portrayal of a disintegrating family.


I suppose this story was at some point inevitable. Like Cathryn's excellent work, it was inspired by discussion of the show over at the Mighty Big TV web site at http://www.mightybigtv.com. It would be unfair to say that I am a big fan of 7th Heaven ( I can in fact be quite harsh in my criticism of it), though I have always felt that it had the potential to be a good drama if the writing was better. I feel that Annie's behavior of late has been abusive and destructive to her family, and feel that a more accurate portrayal of one family member's reaction to it would do us all some good. Hoping to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak, I have penned the following alternate ending to "Ay Carumba!", which begins just as Lucy's three siblings throw her out of the garage apartment in their disturbing little game of "Survivor".  
  
***  
  
Her name was Lucy Camden, and she was standing at the top of the stairs.  
  
Perhaps, gentle reader, this does not seem unusual to you. They were only stairs, after all, only wood and glue and nails, cut just right and assembled by a carpenter. She had climbed these same stairs many times and it had never seemed unusual before.  
  
Only now it was.  
  
Her three siblings were sitting on the floor of the unfinished room, the assorted evidence of what might have been a slumber party around them. Sleeping bags, blankets, even a little food. And in a basket, at the feet of Lucy Camden, were her possessions, carefully gathered and laid there by her siblings.  
  
Her brothers would not look at her, not directly. Her sister would.  
  
We have voted you out, they had said.  
  
"So where am I supposed to go?" Lucy asked them.  
  
"Go apologize to Mom," her sister Ruthie suggested. "It doesn't matter, since I'm going to get the garage apartment." She wore a cold, smug face as she looked up at Lucy, a face that somehow seemed too cold for a child.  
  
Mom.  
  
Lucy looked away.  
  
Even the word, just the word, brought a sudden chill. The face, the wild eyes, suddenly those of a stranger, the shouting, the demands. Lucy had seen it right away; this wasn't about Mary, the eldest daughter just returned. It wasn't about not making Mary welcome in the family home, wasn't about the way Lucy's own return had been a non-event. It wasn't even about apologizing for being angry at the way their mother had been behaving now for, how long? No. It was about obedience, about submitting even when you knew the woman was wrong, about telling lies to make the house and family peaceful while all the while you walked on eggshells in the quiet terror that now pervaded your home.  
  
A home she no longer had.  
  
I banish you, all of you, Mom had said. Until you obey me, completely and without question, I banish you. To the garage. You are not welcome in my home.  
  
My home?  
  
And so there had been the shock of it, of gathering a few of your things and bringing them out here, where you and your two brothers and your little sister were to live now, without food, without the right to bathe or even to enter the house, your house, unless it was to use the toilet. Lucy had watched her younger sister, afraid that this would be hardest on her, and on her younger brother.  
  
Only now, these ones too had cast her out.  
  
They were watching her as she watched them. Ruthie looked up at her again, her gaze unfeeling.  
  
"You lose," she said, her voice sounding too small for the words she spoke. "Out."  
  
#  
  
Lucy Camden had said nothing. There were no words for this second betrayal. When had their protest over their mother's behavior become a game?  
  
It's all a game, she thought suddenly, moving back down the stairs. It's always just a game. How many years have I been playing?  
  
No answer. Another question came.  
  
Dad?  
  
Where was her father, the man she had once looked upon with such awe, the man she had once thought could settle any dispute, could answer any problem?  
  
She knew this one. He was in the house.  
  
Afraid of the wife who had sworn to love him.  
  
Lucy remembered now, as she left the garage and stepped toward the house, all the words over all the years from her mother and her father about love, about the love of family, about how marriage was something special, about how you should love your husband or wife with all your heart, how their pain was your pain.  
  
He is afraid of her. She makes him suffer by abusing him and those things he loves most. I see it and I know it.  
  
Lucy stopped just inside the garden gate, her basket and her possessions in her hands. She had stepped this far without thinking. It was her home in there and the path had seemed natural.  
  
And she had, without thinking, intended to apologize. It would be a lie, of course, like the lies she knew her father now told to keep his family intact, but Lucy knew her mother. Mom would smile and maybe weep, and the tears would be genuine, because her world would be all right again. Her daughter, the Lucy she had made, who was quiet and obedient and who demurred to the authority of the household without complaint, would have returned. It would be Dad's sermon again: the prodigal son.  
  
Had the prodigal son been the liar that Lucy knew she was about to become?  
  
Her mouth was dry. She felt a sudden need to vomit. All her life she had been told to be honest, that God loved honesty. And yet to be loved, she must now lie?  
  
A moment passed. Another.  
  
And in those moments, the first changes began.  
  
#  
  
Robbie.  
  
He was standing in front of her. She heard his voice.  
  
"Lucy?"  
  
Somewhere, in a memory that now didn't seem important, she recalled that he had stepped out of the house and seen her, that he had come up to her.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asked.  
  
There was a time not so long ago when his words, his concern, would have mattered to her. There was a time that she had wanted him, his touch and his kiss, when things like that had seemed to matter. It seemed odd, but they didn't now, though she didn't know why.  
  
"I'm fine," she said.  
  
"You don't look fine."  
  
She tried not to scream and just succeeded in suppressing the urge to. Robbie spoke again.  
  
"I didn't get a chance to ask you before. What did you think of Joy? I want you to like her. I know it might be hard for you, since we --"  
  
Joy. The word seemed hollow just now. It was the name of a woman; maybe half an hour ago Lucy remembered fighting with Mary about her.  
  
Why? she asked herself.  
  
I don't know.  
  
"Please leave me alone," she said.  
  
Robbie opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it. The unpleasant idea that maybe she had some of her mother in her came and settled in Lucy's mind, and she swallowed at the fear of it.  
  
Robbie was gone then, presumably to see his new girlfriend. No matter; it wasn't important.  
  
Lucy turned, and stepped toward the back yard. There was a tree there that would provide some shelter if it rained, and though it was chilly today, she knew that the cold within the house and garage would be much harder to bear.  
  
She found a place and settled, wrapping her sleeping bag around herself.  
  
#  
  
One by one, the others gave in.  
  
She saw Simon first, padding toward the house, his head down. He was a sullen teenager these days, so much different from the cheerful, confident boy she remembered. Maybe it was something to do with being a boy, or maybe just being a Camden boy. If he saw her he gave no sign.  
  
Lucy closed her eyes, prayed softly.  
  
Please bring back my mother, God. She wasn't perfect but she loved me. She doesn't love me anymore. Please make my father strong again.  
  
After perhaps an hour Matt stepped out of the garage. He saw her and walked over.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked.  
  
She said nothing. He had always been the older brother, had always taken the role seriously. He had rescued her from mistakes, had always tried to make sure she behaved. He had followed her dates and had once even threatened one of them, and he had helped her when she had wanted to become a cheerleader.  
  
Just another thing she had not been able to stay with. It seemed sometimes that there was nothing in her life that lasted, that was permanent. Not even friends. There had been one, now dead, and a second who had cut herself and gone away. No one. Nothing.  
  
Except family. They were always there. Matt was always there. He was in college but never seemed to study, always seemed to find time to act like a third parent. She wondered what it was like for him, to be saddled with the responsibilities that their parents put on him even when he was clearly unable to fulfill them. Now he crouched down in front of her.  
  
"I'm going in to apologize," he said. "The whole sit-in thing was stupid. Rebellion over." He chuckled nervously. "And Ruthie won the 'Survivor' game. Big surprise there, heh?"  
  
Lucy looked at him. After a moment he spoke again.  
  
"We were wrong, Luce. We should have known better than to try and second-guess Mom." His eyes blinked nervously.  
  
"You really believe that?" she asked.  
  
He didn't say anything, didn't answer. Instead he stood up and walked quickly away.  
  
#  
  
Evening came. And with evening came Mom and Dad. Lucy looked up at them as they approached her.  
  
"Do you have anything you want to say?" Mom asked.  
  
I can't lie, Lucy thought.  
  
She shook her head. She saw her father's face drop.  
  
"The others have apologized," Mom said. Her tone was cold. "Why won't you?"  
  
"I can't," Lucy said softly.  
  
"You hate your sister that much?" Mom snapped.  
  
She saw her father's eyes go wide.  
  
"I don't hate Mary," she said.  
  
"I think you do," her mother hissed. "I think you can't admit you're wrong. Well, you can just stay out here, then. No house privileges, and the garage apartment is off limits too. When you're ready to say you're sorry, you can come back. Not before. Do you understand?"  
  
For the first time her father spoke.  
  
"Annie --"  
  
Mom turned her gaze to him.  
  
"What, Eric?"  
  
"I don't think --"  
  
"I didn't ask you to think! If you can't support the way I discipline my children, you can just stay out here with her! I'm sure you'll both be very happy together!"  
  
Without another word, Mom stalked off.  
  
Lucy looked up at her father. He tried to match her gaze, failed. Then he looked toward the house, toward his wife.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said. "I have to think of them --"  
  
"I can hear you, Eric!" her mother called from the porch.  
  
He looked at Lucy again, and she at him.  
  
Then he turned and walked back into the house.  
  
She was alone.  
  
#  
  
Lucy sat silently as night unfolded around her. Her family was in the house, together again. For them, things had returned to normal, to the way they had been before. Family, always family. There was no one else. No friends, no one save for these eight people and the boy they had all but adopted. She had gone away once, to New York, but it had not been like home and so she had returned. Home was all. It was what she was, all she had ever been: Lucy, the little girl, the daughter, the sister.  
  
And in the night the question came to her.  
  
Is this all I'll ever be?  
  
It's all I know, she answered. I failed in New York. I could have stayed, could have found an apartment. There was enough money for that, if I had gotten a job. I could have done what I said I was going to do, could have been what I promised I would be.  
  
But I didn't. I am a failure.  
  
This was more than she could bear, this truth. It overwhelmed her. She wanted to cry, to weep, but the tears would not come; it was too much even for that.  
  
I can't go on. I am alone and I can't.  
  
Suddenly, in the quiet night, the little girl Lucy was facing the young woman who sat under the tree. And in the quiet night the little girl spoke, her voice and her face the stuff of memory.  
  
I know you are afraid, she said to her. I know you are alone and the world is big and frightening. I know you want to be me forever, to be small and safe and protected. You want to know that Mom or Dad or your big brother or your big sister will always be there for you, looking out for you. You want that perfect boy, that fairy-tale love you felt when Jeremy took you to the theater and let you sing.  
  
But you are no longer me. You are you. What you become, what you are, is not in their hands. These things are in yours, and yours alone. You know this. You may deny it but you know that there is no fairy-tale love, only hard work and the risk of pain as well as joy. You are capable of seeing what your mother has become, are capable of seeing that your family is dying because they cannot grow.  
  
And you are capable of knowing that in time, because of this, your family will kill everything good in you.  
  
The words of the little girl were true. And hearing them, Lucy began to weep at last, sobbing into her hands as she sat wrapped in her sleeping bag in the back yard of what had once been her home. In time, too, she realized that she was not weeping out of self-pity, but that she was mourning the truth in the little girl's words.  
  
Is there nothing I can do? she asked. Is there no saving them? No saving my mother?  
  
No. It is not your duty to save her. That is her duty. If you lie to her as the others have, you save neither her nor yourself.  
  
What should I do?  
  
The answer did not come quickly.  
  
#  
  
She slept, after a time. It did not rain and the slow wind rustled the autumn leaves above her. And in time she awoke, and it was clear, the sky blue.  
  
It was Monday. There was work for Mom and Dad and Matt and Robbie, school for Simon and Ruthie. Lucy watched the last of them leave, sat for a while.  
  
She felt different, not like she ever had before, and she wondered why. Even as she wondered, though, she knew. Carefully, she rolled up her sleeping bag and put it back in the large basket with her other things. Then she took the basket and stood, stepped toward the house.  
  
The back door was unlocked. Lucy slipped quietly inside, set down the basket and moved to the stairs, stepped quietly up to the second floor. She had reached her bedroom when Mary found her.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
Lucy didn't turn. She opened the closet door and pulled out her backpack, laid it on her bed. Mary stepped closer, her stance just a bit threatening.  
  
"Mom told me not to let you in the house."  
  
Lucy looked at her.  
  
"Did she, now?"  
  
Mary nodded. "Even if you apologize. She wants you to do it in front of the entire family. Get out."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Lucy said.  
  
Her statement seemed to catch her sister off guard. Lucy began putting clothes into the backpack. She was careful, selective.  
  
"What are you doing?" Mary asked finally.  
  
Lucy didn't answer. She felt Mary grip her arm.  
  
"If this is some sad attempt to undermine Mom --"  
  
Lucy turned to her. The hold of her sister's hand hurt a bit. "Are you trying to hurt me, Mary?" she asked. "Maybe break my arm?"  
  
Mary looked at her hand, at her grip. She let go.  
  
"No. I--"  
  
Lucy added her diary, a few other things. There was some money in a little box she kept in the top drawer of her dresser, and some more in her purse. Not much, but some. She added her checkbook; there was still money in the account, from New York.  
  
Somewhere nearby, something fell. They both heard the twins giggling.  
  
"Oh! Wait!" Mary exclaimed, and she left quickly to deal with them. Lucy fought the urge to follow, turned her attention back to her work.  
  
Soon the pack was full. Lucy looked around the room for a moment, at her bed, her dresser, those things of hers that remained. They all seemed small now, already distant. Then she reached into her pocket, took out her house keys, and tossed them onto the bed.  
  
#  
  
Her sleeping bag was the last thing she took, down in the kitchen where she had laid her basket. She tied it to the bottom of her pack. As she did, Mary appeared again, Sam and David trailing her. They all watched her.  
  
"You can't do this," Mary said.  
  
"I have to."  
  
"What about us? You just walk out on your family?"  
  
Lucy watched her sister carefully. "It isn't my home anymore," she said.  
  
"Because of me. Is that what you're saying?"  
  
Mary's words were more statement than question. Her voice had begun to tremble as she spoke them.  
  
Lucy stepped to her sister. When she spoke her voice was low, calm.  
  
"It isn't you, Mary. It was never you. It's life; it's the world. This family has been hiding from it for too long. It's all we do, don't you see? Other families grow, change. When you get old enough you move out, move on. But we stay. Mom punishes Matt and you and I like we were ten years old."  
  
"Mom loves us," Mary said. "That's why ...."  
  
Lucy shook her head. "She hides, Mary. We all do. It's like a dream, and we never wake up. Hiding has driven Mom insane and is slowly killing Dad. When you see them together for a while you will understand. What Mom wants is the happy lie instead of the painful truth. But I can't lie anymore."  
  
"I'm going to call Mom! She's got her cell phone! I'll call Dad!"  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
Mary fell silent. They both knew this was true. Lucy wasn't a child and they couldn't force her to stay.  
  
Lucy looked down at the twins. They looked back up at her, suddenly quiet. She remembered holding them, singing them to sleep in her arms. She remembered wondering what it would be like to carry life inside you, to create it and love it. She knelt and hugged them; for them, she felt the guilt of what she was about to do. Then she rose, reached into the bowl of fruit on the table, came up with an apple. As Mary watched her she took a bite; this would be her breakfast. Mary had the phone in her hand but was not dialing it. Lucy pulled on her backpack and stepped to the door.  
  
"Please tell them all that I love them," she said to her sister.  
  
#  
  
Outside, she walked away from the house in the direction of the garage and driveway and the street beyond. The slow breeze was still blowing, and she felt as it tussled a bit at her hair. She remembered leaving before, leaving to join Jeremy in New York, leaving to go to the school where her father knew people and could keep an eye on her. This was not the same. There was no Jeremy, no safety net of her father's old friends, no thought that she was leaving to devote herself to a man forever. This was just her, just Lucy, just the woman she was and the woman she would become. Somehow she knew that regardless, this time her departure had to be for good. Once, just once, she turned and looked back at the house, and just for a second, saw the little girl Lucy standing at the door, watching her.  
  
When she blinked, the little girl was gone. As she turned again, Lucy wondered where she was going. New York would be too far, and the Colonel was there. All of California was too close. Then she remembered something that Bugs Bunny had once said, and she smiled. Albuquerque should be just right.  
  
Taking another bite of the apple, Lucy Camden walked through the gate of the garden and out into the world.  
  
THE END 


End file.
